


259 - Cute Tour Guide Van & Reader is an Actor

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt "a fic where the reader is best friends with van and the reader asks if they can practice lines with him since she's an actor and it's a romantic scene and they have a moment?" and "reader just being this happy bubbly person who is in love with everyone and everything and just looks at the brighter side of things?" and "van shows you around where he lives and his favourite places etc and he gets all excited"Bonus mini requests of something with sexual tension.





	259 - Cute Tour Guide Van & Reader is an Actor

"There ain't anything for us to do there, though," Van argued. Well, maybe not argued… He countered.

"Actually, there is. You're just too grown up and serious now to appreciate any of it," you replied. You heard him scoff but you continued, not allowing him to get a word in. "Besides, Van, I really have to spend some proper time doing rehearsals. If I don't get these lines down… I'm never gonna get a chance like this again, you know? I can't fuck it up,"

"You promised!" he said and it was almost a squeal. It was high pitched enough to be classified as one, at least.

"Yeah! I'm not cancelling or anything. I'm just… Just saying, whatever the plan is, I have to work some too, okay?"

Van was quiet for a second while he thought. You remembered a time, years ago, where he wouldn't have done that. He'd plan out loud, think out loud. Now, with the experience of many interviews under his belt, he knows the power of thought before speech.

"Yeah, alright. So, how 'bout you come here because a change of scenery will be good for ya. You can stay at mine and I'll help you practice the movie-"

"Television show," you interrupted.

"Yep. Whatever. I'll help you practice every night. We won't plan anything else- just play it by ear kinda thing, you know what I mean? I just need a little of ya sunshine, Y/N. Please? And you ain't even seen my place yet."

Van had started to stalk the aisles of your parents’ record store when he was only thirteen. He used to hang around the counter, asking your dad if he knew about any bars that needed bands. Sometimes, Van would show up with his guitar and ask to play so your dad could see how good Van was. He begged your dad to help him, put him in touch with bands and reps. "You're too nice to everyone, Y/N," your dad would say when you repeated the request over the dinner table on Van's behalf, but you were having none of that. Even then you could see Van was special. Years later, you both were still each other's number one fan.

Whenever Van was home, he would make sure you got to see each other. He said he needed your sunshine to keep going. "Like rocket fuel for people, your happiness is, love," he said all the time. He wasn't the only one to be a little in love with your contagious bubbliness and general upbeat nature. It was so rare to find an optimist. All your friends considered it your defining and best quality. 

So, there Van was, asking for the sun to be delivered to his doorstep. A few days later, it was.

…

"And see that little lane over there? There's this café down there and they do these real good iced coffees. Like, real good. Every time I go, there is always a dog out front too, don't know why. But it's good. And just down there is this antique store and you gotta go down these steps, 'cause it's underground, and it smells all dusty and old but they've got the best old records. Don't know where they get 'em from and I don't really want ask the guy 'cause he looks a bit like that killer guy from the telly but I like it there. Reckon I'll find something for John for his birthday. Oh! A new pizza place just opened up. Didn't think much of this part of the city when I first bought the house, but it's really doing good, you know?"

In a parallel universe, Van would have made a joyous tour guide or real estate agent. He was selling the fuck out of his neck of the woods. On the first day of your stay with him, he whisked you out into the city before you really even had a chance to see the place he'd bought or say a proper hello. 

His place was nice though, and you were glad he'd waited until he found something he really did like rather than rush and buy something just because he could. Airbnbs had served him well over the years, but Van seemed happy to have his own space for the first time.

"It's great," you agreed. "The streets even have this little planter boxes like from the movies,"

"Exactly! See, knew you'd love it," Van said as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in close. "Reckon it's about lunch time, yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm. When I looked at here on Google Maps there was a pond thingy. Have you been?" you asked.

"Yeah. It's over by the park. The park is suss as fuck; the kind of place you could probably step on a needle. But the pond is good. Got ducks," Van replied.

As you literally skipped a step and beamed, Van started to go through the list of cafes and restaurants that served good take away.

…

Van watched as you fed ducks the crusts of your sandwich. Every time one of them nibbled at your palm, you'd giggle and look over at him. Sitting on the park table top, feet on the bench seat, cigarette hanging from his mouth, he looked very rockstar. But, he was still the Van you knew from way back when. Still comforting 

"You're like Snow White," Van said as you jumped onto the table to sit by his side.

You took the coffee from his hands (you'd finished yours already) and took a sip, then asked, "What do you mean?"

"Makin' friends with the animals wherever you go… Yeah, and you don't need any more caffeine. Gimme that back."

You let the coffee go willingly.

"I like animals. They're simple, you know? All they want is a little bit of food, little bit of love, and they're happy," you explained with a shrug.

"Sounds like you," Van replied, a fond smile forming on his face.

"And you."

On the walk back to Van's place you cut through the dog park. Van followed along as you bounced up to each fluffy doggo and asked the owners politely if you could pat them. There was one giant fluffball that was almost as tall as you - a Samoyed named Ziggy that barked until Van patted her too. When you left, she whined after him and you heard her owners trying to console her with, "It's okay Zig. Better to have love and lost than never loved at all." 

"Should've brought Mary," Van said as he closed the gate to the park behind him.

"Does she like other dogs?"

"Yeah. Has to. Spends too much time between houses with different dogs and stuff. She's more social than me," Van replied. You nodded, thinking about when you were a teenager and would drag your dog everywhere with you to act as a social buffer. Strangers focused on the dog, not on you, and it allowed you to navigate trips out into the world with ease. It gave you the freedom to learn to be naturally and happily social.

"You miss her when you're touring?"

"Yeah. Funny that, actually. Don't really get homesick. I know I'll see mum and dad again, you know? My friends. But Mary don't know where I get to. Can't call her and stuff. Probably not very… manly… but I miss her the most,"

"Manly? Don't think there is any such thing, Van. And anyway, you said you miss me the most out of everywhere!" you replied in a sulky tone.

Skipping a step to walk backwards in front of Van, you watched him smile and shrug.

"Besides the dog," he said, eyebrow raised.

"Rude,"

"Want a piggyback?" he asked, changing the subject suddenly and reaching out to you.

"Yes."

…

"It's your first night. You can have one night off, yeah?"

Van sat down on the couch next to you. After getting home, you hung around in the lounge together, switching between the television and videos on Van's very scratched laptop. You'd showered first. Then, while he was in the bathroom, you pulled your script out your bag and settled on the couch to read.

"No. I told you. This is huge. If this pilot episode is good, it could be like, a proper T.V. show," you replied, not looking over at him to try to demonstrate you were serious.

"Well… Can I help then? Tell me about the show or your character or something."

After explaining the premise to him and the character of Lola, Van nodded and smiled knowingly.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just suits you. She's a lover, like you," he said.

"She's a physical lover though. I'm more…" but you didn't know what you were compared to Lola. Your eyes met Van's and you held each other's gaze, waiting for the other to say something. Neither of you could explain how you were a lover. Lola threw gentle touches, ferocious kisses, and her body at people with no hesitation. She was bold and unashamed, and you were very fucking excited to embody her. But you weren't like that. You loved, for sure. There wasn't a person alive that hadn't felt the sunshine Van spoke of so often. But what did that mean? What did it make you?

"You don't have a boyfriend, do you?" Van asked suddenly. He sat up straight when he spoke, like he was bracing himself for something. When your face squished inward in confusion, he clarified. "I mean… You're gonna be kissing a lot of people when you're her. Just wondered what your boyfriend thought,"

"You're so weird. That's such a weird way of asking that… And like, we're best friends… you would know if I had a boyfriend…" The more you thought about it, the weirder it was. "God, you're weird. And also! Do you think I would date a guy that like… cared about that?"

"Maybe. Wouldn't you want him to?"

"No. It's acting. A job. It doesn't mean anything. Would you not want your girlfriend to act 'love' at all?" you countered, a little annoyed. Van liked picking fights with people, stirring the pot, despite his constant assurances that he was 'dead peaceful.'

"I… I don't know. Guess I'd want her to do what she wants. Yeah? Just as long as the guys she's acting with ain't better looking than me,"

"Awkward for you. Everyone is better looking than you," you spat back in a childish tone. Little smirk. 

"Hey! What you be doing that nastiness for?!" Van squealed, ripped the script from your hand and threw it across the room, and pounced.

Before the tickling even began, you were in a fit of giggles. When he finally stopped after you conceded loss, you told yourself the tingling skin was a direct result of the tickling, rather than by the act of being lovingly touched by Van.

…

After a pizza meal in the kitchen and a cigarette break on the windowsill, you and Van both began yawning. Stretched out on the couch, your head resting against Van's thigh, your eyes were getting sore. Eyelids too heavy to keep apart, everything went dark.

"Y/N? Bedtime, yeah?"

"So early," you mumbled back.

"Yeah but we're too old to be cool and stay up late now. We can just go to bed," he replied in a hushed tone you appreciated.

So, you nodded and left Van with the task of assigning sleeping spaces. His place had three bedrooms. Only two of those had a bed, but only one really was a bedroom. The second was meant to be a guest room, but he hadn't got around to doing much other than setting up a bed and bedside table. Boxes were still stacked against the opposite wall. The third room was never going to fulfil its born purpose of bedroom. It was a studio in construction. 

Would Van send you off to the coldness of room two? Would he give you his king size bed and sleep on the couch, where he honestly spent most nights anyway? Would he worry about it all?

You and Van had a lifetime of sharing beds. The older you both got though, the stranger that seemed. You weren't kids having sleepovers anymore. You were adult friends visiting each other. Normal adults don't platonically share beds, do they? Normal adults don't cuddle up together and call it friendship, do they? Since when had either you or Van ever been normal?

You were pushed through the house and into the bedroom where you collapsed onto the bed and crawled under the covers. Van followed you in and turned the lamp off. In the darkness of the room, you listened to his breathing. You could tell he was trying to control how it sounded. He was controlling how he moved too, not wanting to disturb you. After a couple of minutes, he cleared his throat.

"I do miss you more than anymore," he said.

You slowly put your hand out and reached across the space dividing you. Your fingers hit skin and you ran them down his arm until they reached his hand. Van responded fast, moving onto his side so holding hands would be an easily maintained action.

"I miss you too. Now go to sleep."

…

The following day, the first full day of your visit to see Van, was spent entirely at home. In the morning you cooked a big breakfast with so much food that you'd probably eat it for lunch and dinner too. Sitting out on the balcony, you watched the clouds and tried to interpret the ambiguous shapes.

"That one there looks like's Bondy's hat," Van said pointing to one that was moving fast.

"Oh, I love Bond! I miss him. When is he-Ah! This one looks like a crocodile if you tilt your head!"

"Fuck. This one right here, see it coming from behind those buildings there? That looks like a dick," he said in a tone that was horribly like pride.

"Jesus, Van. I thought you said we're grown-ups now?"

…

In the afternoon, Van made good on his promise to let you work. He sat next to you on the couch and read the lines of the other characters as you read Lola's. Van was a horrible actor, or maybe it was that he wasn't too good at reading out loud fast. He couldn't read the line and act it out in one fluid try. It didn't matter to you though, as long as you were committing it to memory, it was all helpful.

"I think I'm in love with her," Van said when you stopped for a tea break.

"With Lola?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. The audio track of a memory played in your mind. It was Van's voice saying that he thought she was a lot like you. "She's just… She's fun, isn't she? Got all the best lines. Seems… uncomplicated,"

"She is, I think. I like her 'cause it is rare to find a character that is so overtly sexual and in charge of that, but not in a way in which she's used as the punchline or the enemy or whatever. She's sweet too," you agreed.

"You know how in the interviews and stuff they, the actors, they always say they put a little bit of themselves into the role or whatever? You're already doing that, I reckon. When I read some of this yesterday-"

"When did you read it?" you asked interrupting.

"When you were in the shower. When I read it, the way she sounded was different, you know what I mean? She was a bit… not like, bitchy, but harsher or whatever? But because you're… what did you say she was? Sweet. Because you're sweet, she is. You make her soft, in a good way, and I think that's why she's so good."

You could see that Van was simply stating his own observation and opinions because he wasn't watching you for a reaction; he was making the tea as he spoke. Van wasn't trying to compliment you, make you feel all gooey, or anything at all. Yet, you wanted to cry. Your nose tingled the way it always did before you started to cry. Your eyes glazed over. You chewed your bottom lip. It really, really felt like a compliment. It also really, really felt like love, but you didn't identify that.

When you went back to reading the lines, it was even better. You had felt all along that Lola was like you, but with Van's confirmation, you were unstoppable. Her lines rolled off your tongue like they were born of your brain. You could imagine how she walked, how her nose crinkled in distaste, how her lips curved when surprised. She was real in your head, and she was part you. She was also wholly loved by Van, and you weren't sure of the math there.

…

"Aren't we a bit old to be makin' forts?" Van asked.

You looked up at his face to read the expression. The curve of his perfect pink lips told you he was amused, at the very least. He wasn't really against the idea. There was a sparkle in his eyes that couldn't be dulled by the crushing expectations of what the rest of the world called 'adulthood,' even if Van kept talking about it. He was the type of person to try to be what the people he loved needed him to be, but he was conflicted. You were the only one asking him to keep some of the menace and youthful frivolity and vibrant lust for life. And yeah, nobody was proactively telling him not to have those qualities, but fuck, they aren't really the things synonyms with being all grown up and responsible.

"When did you get so boring, Van McCann?" you replied, smirking and waiting for the absolutely inevitable spitfire response. "Early bed times-"

"Alright, alright!" he yelled before you could continue.

Once the fort of sheets, pillows and washing line pegs ("Van, you don't even have a washing line?") was constructed, you both crawled in. It was small but comfortable. The sun had gone down hours ago, so it was dark inside. In the lounge room, only a lamp had been left on. The light from it only just filtered through the sheets.

"What now?" he asked.

"I'm pretty comfy. Think I might just nap,"

"Nap? At eleven at night? You mean you're sleeping here?" he asked in his high-pitched surprised voice.

"Slept in worse places. Not saying you have to if you need a proper mattress for that broken hip,"

"Fuck you, Y/N. I'm in a band. I'm not boring and old," he said. You couldn't see the pout on his face, but you knew him well enough to know the entire dictionary of Van McCann's expressions.

You sniggered as he got comfortable and found his place on the floor. Like the night before, you were falling asleep when he started to talk again. He rolled over to face you. You could only make out shapes, but his gaze was settled on you; you could feel it.

"I love that you do stuff like this. It's good for me," he said.

"The fort?"

"Yeah. The fort… And the clouds this morning. Feeding ducks. All of it. You're… bubbly… You love everyone. Everything. Just… It's good being around that type of happiness again,"

"Music industry full of emos?" you joked.

"Just… A lot of seriousness. This year's been monster. It's getting serious now. We can't go out and meet fans all the time like we used to. We can't use our own accounts on the internet and stuff. Never in one place long enough to… It's just… I didn't realise how much I missed you,"

"I'm sorry, Van…"

"No! No. It's not… I don't like complaining 'bout it. I'm not complaining. I'm so, so lucky. I shouldn't-"

"Van, it's alright. I get it. Even if things are good, you don't have to, like, think it's all good. There's heaps about the way you guys live that's hard. You miss your families and friends. It's rough on your bodies. All that. It's okay. And I miss you too, all the time. Whenever I hear your songs on the radio I get all happy for you, but then I get sad. It's bittersweet, all of it," you replied.

"Yeah… bittersweet…"

You felt his hand move, look for yours. As soon as your fingers touched, electricity raced up your arm, up your back, spinning around and around your spine, then exploded into your brain making you feel hazy and warm and weirdly- scared. Your body asked you politely to get closer to him. Apparently, his had too.

"Y/N? Can I be the little spoon for once?"

…

While Van was brushing his teeth in the morning, you found Mary's lead and got her ready for a trip. When Van walked out and saw you and Mary ready to go, he smiled and walked over. He held Mary's face in his hands and she licked at his skin happily.

"You love it when she's here, huh?" he asked her. She continued to lick. "Me too… Let me just grab my keys."

Out on the city streets, Tour Guide Van returned.

…

"What time is your flight again?" Van asked for the third time.

His back was to you as he stood at the stove, pointlessly stirring the spaghetti in the salty water. It was your last night of the trip. In the morning, you'd fly home and probably not see Van for another couple months at the least. At the most, it could be a year. You could tell he was nervous about it. The questioning about the flight was the most obvious giveaway, but beyond that, there was the increase in cigarettes smoked, there was tapping hands and sad eyes.

"10. So I wanna get to the airport at like, 9.15… half past at the latest. You still cool to drop me?" you replied.

"Yeah. Won't plan anything for the morning then. Just… sleep in and go straight from here,"

"Ah-huh. That's what I thought."

He was quiet again. You watched him concoct his own pasta sauce from random things he pulled from cupboards and the fridge. Music played through a speaker on the kitchen shelf, and you controlled the songs via Bluetooth. Every now and then he'd comment on your choice, or make a small sound in response. A laugh at a good memory. A little gasp at something good. Mostly though, he cooked in silence.

During dinner, Van took the seat next to you, rather than opposite at the table. It meant that you could wipe the sauce off his face and he could flick bits of cheese at you from close proximity. On one hand, it felt easy and playful and natural. On the other, it felt intimate and painful and full of potential.

"More rehearsal?" Van asked as you washed and he dried.

…

"So, she goes over to him and sits on his lap-" you explained.

"He'd just like, automatically put his arms 'round her," Van added, to which you nodded.

"Yeah. Exactly. And it's important, because we know one of these people will be this guy that she gets, ah…"

"She loves him," Van said.

"No, I don't know. It's a thing. They have a thing," you disagreed.

Van looked at you, then down at the script in his hand. You watched him flick through a couple of pages. He started to shake his head, then looked back up at you.

"You reckon? I think she proper loves him," he said again.

It's good that you both read the situation differently. Ultimately, that is what you wanted for Lola. You wanted her love and her intentions to always be pure, but still indescribable. She was open to interpretation, and if she were real she'd like that. She'd be amused that you saw her and him as a thing, whereas Van saw love. Deep down, you agreed with Van though. You just didn't want Lola to commit so early on. It was the pilot episode! Give her a couple of seasons before she falls in love.

Give her time.

"Well… it doesn't matter for the scene. And, make sure that I get it word for word, okay?" you said.

Van nodded. He was sitting on a chair you'd pulled away from the table. You were at the kitchen bench, ready to walk over to him and take your place on his lap. That's what Lola did to a guy in a bar.

Lola crosses bar with a look of intent on her face.

You shook out your arms. Van smirked and you ignored it. As you began to walk, you felt the steps feel different. Like you'd just woken up and you were walking on dead legs, but the movements were graceful. It was because it was not your stride, but hers. Van could see it too, the way your legs moved, but the sway of your hips... He recognised that from every time he'd watched you dance across the room. Every time you'd ground on someone while out and about with the guys. Your hips… that's was all you.

Lola sits on guy's lap - no invitation, no warning.

Van's legs were naturally spread apart just a little. You sat across them and leant into his chest for support. Like he'd said - automatically his arms went around your middle to keep you centred and safe. His bare arm was pressed to your lower back, where your shirt rode up a little.

She smiles and the guy thinks he's in love. No - he knows he's in love.

Van looked up at you at the same time that you focussed your gaze down at him. You licked your lips, then smiled a proper Lola smile. You watched his eyes dart from yours, to your mouth, then back up again. It was only a split second. Never had you wanted your face to read, 'Love me. Just fucking love me!' until that moment. Van read it loud and clear, but he was all muddled up. Was it Lola's expression on your face or…

Lola: Hi.

"Hi," you delivered in a voice that was just above a whisper. It's a little raspy, a little cute, and totally inviting.

The guy stares. There is a pause.

Van's eyebrows pulled in together and he frowned. It's a deep and troubling frown. Lucky he didn't do it often, otherwise he'd wrinkle there and look old way before his time.

You gave him a second… The guy in the script paused, yeah, but he certainly didn't frown at Lola. He fell in love with her in an instant. What does Van's 'I'm acting like I'm in love' face look like?

The eye contact started to burn. He was not looking away. Your lips parted slightly, and you dropped Lola's smile and took a breath in. It did something to Van; his frown dropped too. His expression was completely neutral, resting. He was still searching for something in your eyes though. You wanted to look away but couldn't. It was a supernatural force. Magic magnetism. You breathed out, but it was an audibly shaky breath. Then, like he was looking for the sound, Van's gaze flicked to your lips.

The guy makes a face like he wants to say something. There is nothing to say. He knows she knows. Lola makes the smallest of moves, a breath out, and it launches the guy into action.

The guy leans up and kisses Lola.


End file.
